The Shatarundi / the Retrievers

[Reddie]

The Land of Nordock has become a quiet, dead place. A place in which cancerous moss slowly begins to cover ancient monuments, where gold mines fall into neglect, where the Shade drifts over the people like a mass of slow, gray clouds. Derelict, abandoned, aimless. The times have changed, my friend. Only ten years ago, these lands were filled with powerful groups that would seek to control them; the Silent Hand, the Underdark Houses and Clans, mad cults, anarchists, wizard conclaves, churches and covens... In this age of silence, they've all let the cool Shade wash over them. This is an opportune time for someone who's still quick on their feet and has fire in them. This isn't the end, except for those who wish to linger in the Shade and gather nothing but dust.

My friend, this is the time for...

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Khôr-Gardul empties his pipe on the floor of the Drowned Rat by knocking it sternly on the corner of the table. The tanned and weathered gold dwarf begins refilling it without looking, instead focusing on eyeing you, one by one, with a disturbingly invasive glance. His amber eyes are not unkind, but neither are they exactly friendly. When he speaks, there's a droning softness to his voice, punctuated by his barking brevity, which reveals his military backround.

"Back home in Rachava, we used ta have people like you, civilians, who did all sortsa odd jobs for the Clans. We called ya the Shatarundi..." he pauses to notice few of you speak gold dwarven; "...the Retrievers." The man is imposing, dominating the space around him despite his short stature. He puts the reloaded pipe between his teeth without lighting it. "The Shatarundi were not nice people. Maybe you are, who knows. Either way, I've got jobs for you and I've got real money to pay for it, too."

He takes a prolonged moment to light his pipe, after which he again casts his eyes on you.

"Accountability. That's what makes the Shatarundi useful. You use common sense, you never kill civilians, you abide to the laws of the land..." he smiles slyly "...whenever necessary, and never try to lie to me. And you do your job. If you can stick to that, you can make a fortune out of this land falling to the Shade. Retrieve your target, get paid - that's how simple it is." He slides over the registration form over the rough-hewn table nonchalantly. The joining bonus of 10 000 gold pieces seems as attractive as it seems dangerous.

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OOC:
Premise:

This is a Player Group for any casual players that enjoy roleplaying-heavy adventuring, monster hunting, nice payments for completed tasks, story arcs spanning multiple characters and NPCs, and so on. It's a group for us old players as well as anyone not so familiar with the game, who want a reason to be adventuring and banding together.

We'll complete quests and I'll provide the rewards for them from my fairly respectable personal vaults. The signing bonus is 10 000 gp to get you started.

We'll share a level cap to a reasonable extent, so that different player activity levels don't equal different in-game value. We begin with a level cap of 3. For the people not familiar with the concept of level caps, this means that you can play alone, gain loot and levels, but to keep everyone on board, you may not exceed the stated cap. New caps will be posted as often as necessary.

Everyone can have multiple characters and shared character story arcs between them are more than welcome.

Our server is Classic, because that's where all my wealth is, and because ILR is silly.

I'm an European player, so unfortunately I will rarely be able to accommodate people from the US, asides from weekends. That means the Shatarundi usually have to play around 17.00 GMT onwards.

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For now, state here if you're interested in playing a Retriever. If I get a few interested people, we'll go ahead and organize your first mission.

-Reddie

[Reddie]

Mis, sweating visibly, mysteriously overcomes her anxiousness and is the first to reach for the pen. The pale ginger's skin has an entire continental map of thin, white scars criss-crossing it, from the clavicles to the hairline - the only skin visible in her armored visage. Bizarre, clumpy burn scars in and around both her ears underline the image of a woman who's seen much violence in her short life. She looks about the other recruits with emptiness in her eyes, as if not recognising anyone. She closes her eyes, blocking the other recruits around her.

With an unwavering hand and without a word, she signs: "Misericordia."

Then backing away from the table as if disgusted by it, she stands back to see who else wishes to sign this contract.

((Misericordia, cleric, focused on meleé.))